


Picard in Cutoffs by Jeanita

by internetname



Series: TrekSmut Illustrated Moments [6]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 13:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3136871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetname/pseuds/internetname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picard in Cutoffs by Jeanita

**Author's Note:**

> I and some other P/Q writers enjoy making what we call TrekSmut Illustrated Moments. Costumes are emphasized, and the Picard and Q who appear in the stories are usually not Captain Picard and Q of the Continuum. (We also call these "And Then They Fuck" stories. They're short and fun and give them a try!
> 
> This one is actually authored by Jeanita. She let me put it up on my old site, so I'm hoping it's OK to put it up here. (Jeanita, if you see this, write me! Love to hear from you.)

I just got a new computer which I can't really operate all that well yet. I read Night Clubbing, and started thinking about Picard, Q and clothes. My little brain came up with Picard in cutoffs, and I wondered why he'd be hanging out in a pair of ratty shorts. Well "Picard in Cutoffs" sketches a scenario. 

Picard in Cutoffs 

by  
Jeanita

Picard in cut-offs and flipflops. He's got the top two buttons provocatively undone, and he's lying on a beach chair along the boardwalk, ostensibly working on his tan, but the faded shorts reveal a nice bulge. Everybody knows what the deal is. The boy hustlers watch in amazement from across the boardwalk. How could such an old guy take all the best trade? He just appeared one day in shorts so faded and worn that you could see his entire package hanging down his left thigh. 

That's what brought in the customers. Take this john. This is his third time in as many days. Scowling. Flashy. Dangerous. A drug-runner sneaking away to do what he shouldn't. He can't let anybody know what he really likes or he'll lose face in the ubermachismo underworld, but oh, how he wants it. This is a man who plays hard and plays for keeps. The bulge of his beretta is all too obvious underneath his raw silk jacket. And another bulge, lower down. Growing more obvious as he approaches. He mops dark hair off his forhead, already beginning to sweat even though the morning's still cool. The boys stare. The tall man makes a demand. 

Urgent. 

The bald hustler just smiles from behind his Raybans. The tall man's body language becomes menacing. Aggressive. The boys shift on their perches remembering his gun. They're ready to dive if things get hot. 

The old guy stays cool. He opens his legs slightly, canting his hips so that his penis is even more sharply outlined against his upper thigh. He stares up at the drugrunner in lazy amusement and suddenly the guy deflates, all the fight taken out of him. He can't take his eyes off the muscular legs or the flat stomach. He leans forward slightly, supplicatingly, his mouth twisting down almost as if he's about to cry. 

Only now does the old guy move, lazily twisting off his deck chair to walk inside his ground floor apartment. The trick follows, reaching in his pocket to pull out a roll. Not counting, he hands it to the hustler who throws it behind him without bothering to look at how much is there. Before he closes the curtain the boys see him slide his hands into his pants and shimmy them off his hips. He takes his sunglasses off and gives a kindly smile to the drugrunner who's already on his knees. 

Waiting.


End file.
